


the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

by DamagedDolly



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bed-Wetting, Diapers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-23 07:53:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamagedDolly/pseuds/DamagedDolly
Summary: Jonathan Sims is a tightly wound spring, curled protectively around all the shamefull bits of himself that he can never show, and it would be very nice if the bumbling idiot Martin Blackwood would stop trying to inadvertently coax them out of him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 29
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate universe. There is still supernatural stuff, but its much less apocalypse-y and much more benign.

There was just so much. 

That was Jon's first thought on entering the archives. So much to do, even he could tell that and he wasn't even entirely certain what he was supposed to be doing here. Though apparently Elias thought differently, because he had been the one to promote him. Fortunately, Elias also saw fit to give Jon a general overview of his new duties. Then patted Jon on the back, which made him flinch, and smiled his too sharp smile."I'm sure you'll do me proud. After all you are the perfect man for the job." Then, mercifully, Elias left. And Jon was now alone with nothing but a seemingly endless amount of work before him

Jon sighed, gritted his teeth, and got to work. 

He wasn't alone for long though, as two assistants soon showed up, obviously previously acquainted with one another if their friendly bickering was anything to go by.

Professional. Professional. Act Professional. You're their boss now. 

Jon stood from where he'd been seated, pouring over one of the endless boxes of files that have seemingly been chucked in with no rhyme or reason.

His insides clenched painfully. Had he.... Had he gone to the bathroom lately? Was his first panicked thought. Well he couldn't now. He needed to go out there and meet his new subordinates and explain their duties.

He clenches his fists at his sides, and walkes out.

It didn't go disastrously, Jon though staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had excused himself as soon as Sasha and Tim had gotten to work. 

Mostly they had nodded while he rambled on about his plans to organize the archives while also dealing with the incoming statements. Then when there was nothing more to say, there was a long, awkward pause wild they just stared at him as if they were expecting something. So Jon had just made a jerky hand movement that was meant to encompass a haphazardly stacked wall of boxes and blurred out "get to work then" 

Then he scurried off to the bathroom.

It could have been worse. They could have immediately looked at him and seen just how unfit he was to be an archivist, and mocked him for ever trying to pretend. Or could have pissed himself in the middle of trying to explain his organization methods. Or...or.. Jon stopped himself. Non of that happened. It had been fine. He was fine. He could figure out how to do this.

He finished washing his hands in the sink. Then contemplated trying to pee again, just to be sure. ... No, it was fine. The bathroom was right next to his office in the dark creepy hallway situated at the back of the archives. It was right here if he needed it. Spacious and pretty clean, one toilet, one sink and a nice thick door with a sturdy lock so no one barge in and see him desperately holding himself as he tries to make it to the toilet so he doesn't piss himself.... again. Or walk in on him having some sort of bizarre pep talk with his reflection, or something else equally embarrassing.

Jon takes a deep breath. It's fine. He can do this. He has a plan and he definitely hadn't spent the night before googling "how to be an archivist". He reaches for the door handle. 

He can do this.

He walks back to his office. He hasn't pissed himself. His assistants are busy assisting. He just needs to get to work himself now, after all, nothing ever happens if you don't begin it. 

He sits down at his desk, and opens a file. He can do this, he thinks, and this time he almost believes it.

He gets to work.

And then a man barges in looking for a dog.


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan Sims hates Martin Blackwood. He hates him. He hates his curly hair and his stupid freckles and his warm smiles and his hesitant voice and his stupid, ugly jumpers. He hates the unnecessary flowery language in the files he submits to Jon, he hates how he endlessly pokes his head in asking if Jon wants tea or food. Sometimes he doesn't even ask, he just gives a gentle knock, then comes in, bringing a hot cup of tea, wordlessly removing the old cup from the mess of Jon's desk.

Jon hates it, and Martin won't stop. It doesn't seem to matter if Jon glares, or doesn't say thank you, or tells Martin "No, he doesn't want yet another cup of tea, get back to work" Martin still comes back, with careful, quiet steps and a shy smile to offer once again.

Jon knows it isn't just Martin being a good employee, because Sasha and Tim do nothing of the sort. In fact, Jon's pretty sure that they go out of his way to avoid them. He thought he was doing alright, maintaining a professional distance, but he's overheard conversations that involve his name being said in the same sentence as phrases like "asshole", and "prick," and on one memorable occasion "sweat shop manager" 

Jon doesn't think that last one is very fair. After all, He's taken on the brunt of the work himself, feeling it was unfair to heap too much of the backlogged work onto his assistants while giving them no extra financial compensation for it. He doesn't think he can do that. Give people raises? Bonuses? Fire people? He doesn't know and he can't ask without looking ignorant. It doesn't matter anyway, Jon supposes. He (probably) wouldn't fire Martin even if he could, just because it would make his life easier.

Things have gotten better for him. The gut wrenching panic of being thrown into a strange situation that he is woefully underprepared for had died down. No one seems to known that he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be an archivist, or a boss, or an adult, or human being probably. Sasha was so much more qualified than he was. Couldn't they just have hired her? Hell, even annoying, flirty, never serious Tim is more qualified than he is. But for whatever reason Jon has been chosen, and he's going to do a damn good job of it.

It helps that he's interested in the subject matter.The paranormal has always fascinated him, though he hates to admit it out loud. Its just one more thing about him for people to make fun of.

"Hey did you hear? Jonny believes in ghosts!" The laughter rings in his ears, and makes him feel small, but not in anyway that's pleasurable. But those people are far away. He isn't a child anymore, even though he's never stopped feeling like one. Now he's the intimidating surly boss of a handful of employees, who don't dare bother him. (Except for bloody Martin. Always Martin) So in turn Jon doesn't bother them, except to give brisk directions or criticisms of their work.

And everything falls into a manageable routine. Jon gets to work early, goes to bathroom, and shuts himself in his office to work. He works through the old files, and takes new statements. He sets up an alarm on his phone to remind him to go to the bathroom regularly. He find's it a bit humiliating. It's what you would do for a very small child just learning how to control their bladder.But it's, practical, and more importantly it works. Jon has a couple near misses, but he doesn't ever have a full blown accident during work hours.

He stays after the others leave, just to go through a few more files. But then there are more files and more after that, and some are laughable, but some are interesting and he's almost done with this entire box and he misses an alarm or two, his phone vibrating on his desk ignored, until his bladder asserts his dominance over him and he's forced to try and scurry to the bathroom while clutching himself. More times then he likes to admit he ends up with a wet patch on his trousers, but luckily it's never anything that his coat can't cover on the shameful way home.

He discovers one night as he's leaving that there is a feral cat that frequents the alley behind the Magnus Institute, and this knowledge thrills him to know end. He immediately adores the fluffy, scraggly, thing with half an ear missing that hisses and glares at him, because CAT. Jon loves cats. Unlike people, Jon has never met a cat he doesn't like, and this one is no exception. He brings a little dish and stacks one of the drawers of his desk full of convenient little pouches of cat food and every night he goes out and feeds the cat whether his pants are wet or not.

Then he goes home, and finally remembers to do that thing that all humans need to do survive. It's usually takeout or something he can microwave. He's never really very hungry and it isn't like he doesn't eat all day. He has breakfast (usually a granola bar) and he often eats something while he works.(Usually a granola bar) He's perfectly capable of keeping himself alive, thank you very much. Unrelated, he also needs to buy more Granola bars.

While he eats he he turns the television on, usually to a documentary and picks up his phone.

He shouldn't do it, he knows, it's just feeding his problem, but he still does it anyway. He can't quite bring himself to get rid of this one comfort in his life. He'll stop when things at work aren't so hectic he promises himself, and dives into the familiar brightly colored websites plastered with motifs of blocks and dolls and teddy bears. 

They have things with Cats on them. Onesies, and bibs and the oh-so-forbidden diapers that send a strange thrill down his spine to look at. There is a fuzzy onesie that has a tail and ears on the hood and cat paws on the end of the sleeved you can put your hands in and he smiles slightly at the happy looking model wearing it and puts it in his shopping cart. A pink pacifier with an adorable gray kitten on the button goes in next. Then there are couple cotton onesies, one is, unsurprisingly cat themed, the other is black and patterned with ghosts. He pops a bib into the the cart as well that says "kitten" in fancy black script. Idly he thinks to himself he would like it if someone called him that.

Next comes the best and worst part of the process. The diapers, he wants them and he doesn't. The desire is embarrassing in of itself. But he's lost in a fantasy where this is alright, and he's going to buy them and use them and enjoy all of this and no one will ever have to know. He picks out a couple cases, thick fluffy things patterned with kittens chasing yarn balls. His thoughts briefly linger on how nice it would be to not constantly worry about whether or not he would wet himself, because it wouldn't matter if he did.

He wants other things too. A plush animal or two, a coloring book would be nice and a box of crayons, the big kind with all the colors he was always terribly envious of as a child. A bottle or a sippy cup. Maybe both. Would it be hard to feed yourself a bottle he wondered? Maybe some blocks, or playdough as well. Definitely some books, he'd been partial to the Little Prince as a child. But these were all things he would have to buy on a different website.

He scoops some more noodles into his mouth and clicks "check out." He auto fills his payment and shipping information while finishing the last of his noodles.

"Confirm order" comes up, and all of his purchases are right there diapers and onesies and pacifiers. And it occurs to him how ridiculous he would look in a onesie with a diaper peeking out the leg holes sucking on a pacifier and he feels sick. It's ridiculous, this whole thing is ridiculous and what was he thinking! He backs out of the transaction and deletes everything from his cart and then the website from his internet history. He throws his phone to the other side of the sofa and gets up to throw away the food containers, sick with the knowledge he's just going to repeat the whole process tomorrow.

He turns off the tv, which by now is on another documentary, and drags himself off to bed. He uses the bathroom and throws his clothes on the floor and blearily tugs on an old shirt over his boxer briefs. Then he uses the bathroom once more for good measure and collapses into bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon wakes up to soaked sheets. He just sighs, and gets up to inspect the damage. 

It isn't too bad. His boxers are wet and gross,and the back of his shirt is wet as well, but the rest of the mess is confided to the absorbent bed pad, so at least he doesn't have to wash sheets today.

He strips naked and wraps up his soiled clothes in the equally soiled bed pad. He then realizes he really has too pee again, which is unfair seeing as he has just got done wetting his bed, doesn't he deserve a little reprieve? He dashes to the bathroom, and once finished, chucks the bundle in the washer and turns it on. He'd been very particular when apartment hinting to find a place that had washer and dryer in the apartment. To spare himself from having to drag his urine soaked things to a laundromat or communal laundry room. He shuffle back to his room to get the second bed pad and lay it out for when he inevitably collapses into bed tonight exhausted as usual.

The bed wetting had gotten worse. It had been bad as a kid, but he'd learned to manage it as he got older. No liquids in the evenings, make certain to pee before bed. By the time he had gone to university it only happened a couple times a month. If he was ever caught with wet sheets, he would just say it was the results of too much drinking the night before(Sometimes it was even true. That was the nice thing about drinking, it was the one activity where wetting your pants wasn't that unusual) The other party would usually just laugh and leave him alone with minimal teasing. 

He had bad bouts of it sometimes, where he would wake up wet almost everyday. These always coincided with him experiencing something stressful, and when things calmed down he could get the bed wetting under control once more.

His new job at the archives however seemed to exacerbate his embarrassing habit like nothing else before it. He worked so much and came home exhausted and he often neglected his stringent anti bed wetting measures and even when he did adhere to them his body didn't seem to care. It was quite determined to wet no matter what he did, and Jon no longer had the energy to care. So he just accepted it, though not without shame. It was kind of exhausting to be this ashamed of himself constantly, which ironically probably contributed to making the bed wetting worse.

Jon sighed once more and got in the shower, blasting the water as hot as he could make it without inflicting permanent damage on himself and scrubbed himself raw, paranoid that some lingering trace of urine would cling to his skin and alert his co workers of his shame.

He picked out a nice sweater vest for the day and got dressed. He didn't bother to comb his hair, just piled it up in a messy half bun of sorts. That was professional enough, wasn't it? 

He grabbed a granola bar and ate it standing in his kitchen, thinking maybe next time he'd get some cereal bars for variety. The washer beeped and he transferred his laundry to the dryer before scurrying out the door to work.

It was fine. He had a routine. He could live with the constant wetting, just so long as it stayed in his apartment where no one knew about it. It was fine.


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't get it" Tim leaned against the desk, crossing his arms, giving Martin and the mug of tea and saran wrapped sandwich he was carrying an appraising look.

"Er... Don't get what Tim? Its tea! Wet leaves in hot water makes the water taste good?" Martin smiled. Hoping his awkward joke would be well received .

Luckily it was. Sasha laughed from where she was at her desk, the only one in the archive currently working. (Besides of course Jon, who never stopped.) 

"Ha ha ha" Tim said dryly, but he was smiling. " I mean, why bother with," he waved a hand in the direction of the creepy hallway in the back. " that"

"I like being helpful" Martin replied, but it sounded too much like a question.

"Yea but, it's Jon." Tim says, as if that explains anything at all. 

Martin raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"He's meeeaaan to you Martin! He's meaner to you than he is to us." 

Martin knows why Jon is more critical of him than the others, his work is probably terribly sub par compared to theirs. He's even less qualified for this position then he was for his last one. And Martin is once again taking the same approach of fake it till you make it, that seemed to work for him before. He can't really tell Sasha and Tim this though, not without admitting the whole lying profusely to get this job thing. So he just smiles and says "that's why he needs it all the more"

Tim snorts "Martin, man of unending optimism." He pauses to take a sip of his own Martin-made tea. "He doesn't appreciate you, you know, not like we do."

"Not like you huh?" 

Tim throws his head back and puts one hand to his forehead like a swooning maiden in a romance novel. "No, you make such good tea I shall have to marry you Martin! So you can make me tea for the rest of my life."

"What a thrilling existence that will be for Martin " Sasha comments dryly. 

Tim ignores her and winks at Martin. " I promise I'll make our marriage worth your while"

Martin can feel his face get hot, but he knows Tim really doesn't mean anything by it. He's like this with everyone and everything. The other day Martin caught him telling a stapler that it was his "one and only" and " no one could do it like you"

"Tim, get back to work." Sasha says, not looking up from her computer.

"But Sashaaaa, I'm trying to save Martin from the mean ungrateful old boss man!"

"Stop being a pest, I'm sure Martin has his reasons" 

"It's like feeding a stray" Martin blurts out, and then he immediately regrets it as two pairs of very interested eyes turn towards him. He rushes to explain he doesn't like being the center of attention and he can feel the back of his neck pickle with sweat. "You know like a dog or a cat or a duck. You don't expect them to be grateful. You just feed them because, you know.... you think they should have food. And they're wary at first and hisss at you and that's OK you know, you expect that. Then they come a little closer each time and sometimes if your very patient they start to recognize that your not.... You know, going to hurt them, and then they get used to you and if your lucky they might start to even like you....." Martin trails off his cheeks burning, he doesn't think he's explained himself well.

There's a long tense moment of silence that stretches out between them. 

Then Tim begins to giggle. "Jon.....j..jon...as a feral cat.....o..oh..my ....oh my God...that's great! Martin..." Tim staggers past him to his desk, clapping Martin on the shoulder as he passes. "Martin you beautiful creature, never change"

Sasha looks sharply at Tim. "Jon isn't a feral cat.... Personally I think he's more like a feral raccoon....with rabies." Then she too bursts out laughing, which only serves to start Tim up again. Martin just shakes his head and smiles, and starts back for Jon's office once more.

It's not their fault they don't understand, not really. Both Tim and Sasha are bright and confident and self assured, they don't recognize the wary looks that Jon gives everything and everyone. They don't see that he isn't so much mean or aggressive as defensive. It's the behavior or a creature used to being attacked and hurt, wary of the time when the hurt will inevitably come again. Martin knows that look, that behavior. He sees it in people and animals all the time, and sometimes he sees bits of it in himself as well. And Martin wants to help.

He knows he can't fix everything. The world is full of suffering, that's just the nature of the place. But if he can make something better for someone or something, well, he wants to. He finds comfort in it. He knows too that sometimes things don't want his help, and it will all be in vain, but Martin never thought that was much reason not to try. 

And Jon's never explicitly told him to stop. So, as long as he and Jon are both here, and Jon is frightened and feral and hurting, Martin will try to help. 

He knocks gently on Jon's door.


	5. Chapter 5

"What is it" 

"Um...it me Martin?"

There's a long sigh.

"Come in if you must." 

Martin treads in to the dimly lit office as lightly as he can. His mother always told him he was big and clumsy, so he tries to make himself smaller, more careful, especially when dealing with skittish things. And Jon, Martin thinks, is definitely a skittish thing.

He sits slumped over his messy desk, elbow deep in files, stray stands of hair falling over his face. He doesn't look up as martin comes closer, but Martin can see his shoulders tense.

"Did you finish the statements I asked for"

"Ahh..you asked for them an hour ago Jon."

One eye peers up at him, silently informing him that Jon believes one hour was in fact plenty of time to get them done.

"It was right before lunch brake." Martin elaborates.

Jon huffs and looks back down at the files on his desk. Martin suspects Jin is thinking that he could have eaten and worked on the files.

"That's umm, what I wanted to talk to you about. See, I made up a couple sandwiches for lunch today and I was, well... less hungry than I thought, so I thought you might like the other one."

Martin creeps closer to the desk and gently places the sandwich and mug of tea down. He plucks up the old mug that was situated precariously close to the edge of the desk and takes a couple steps back.

Jon looks up at the sandwich with more suspicion than a slightly lumpy ham and cheese sandwich deserves.

"It's ham and cheese. White bread. A bit of miracle whip." Martin didn't really know what Jon liked to eat, so he'd tried to keep it simple.

Jon picks up a pencil and pokes at the saran wrap. He looks up slowly at Martin, his dark eyes squinting. "Martin." He says slowly. "Are you trying to poison me?"

Well...that...wasn't exactly what Martin was expecting. 

"Yes!" He blurted out. Because he always said the worst possible thing when put on the spot.

Jon's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again and a small noise resembling an eek came out.

Martin scrambled to recover from just admitting his apparent plot to off his boss. "It's not in the sandwich though. It's in the tea. You see, I've been lulling you into a false sense of security everyday by bringing you unpoisoned tea."

There is pause "And the sandwitch?" Jon squeaks out.

"A diversion" Martin states, oddly calmly for someone who's just about to be fired from a job he very much needs.

Jon's shoulders begin to shake, and for one horrible minute, Martin thinks he's made Jon cry. Then a horrid gasping, coughing, wheezing noise erupts from Jon's throat and Martin wonders if he's having an asthma attack or something before realizing that he's....laughing.....Jon is laughing. He's made Jon laugh.

Jon let's out one last horrid wheeze. Shakes his head and says "get back to work Martin." He sounds tired, but his lips are ever so slightly upturned and the order lacks it's usual bite.

Martin turns to leave, but before he can reach the door he's stopped by a soft "Martin"

"Yes?" Martin stays stock still, not dating to turn around.

Jon sighs "thank you"

"You're very welcome" Martin says, and he knows he's beaming as he leaves the office.He, Martin Blackwood has made Jon Simms laugh. Maybe he is making things better after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Another day, another cup of tea Martin thought as he made himself busy in the small break room kitchen.

He could hear Sasha and Tim laughing in what Tim sometimes referred to as the "bull pen." They were nice to him, they really were, but they obviously had some history. A well established friendship, and Martin, well Martin often felt like he was intruding. It was Tim and Sasha, Sasha and Tim, with Martin standing awkwardly off to one side. 

Awkwardly off to one side seemed to be where Martin always ended up. You'd think he'd be used to it by now.

Martin shook off those thoughts, it wouldn't do anyone any good to endlessly dwell. Sasha and Tim were more than nice to him, and it gave him more time to focus on Jon anyway.

Martin was pretty sure he was making headway in that direction. Jon's snapping had died down into grumbles whenever Martin knocked with a cup of tea, and yesterday he had gotten Jon to eat some of the leftover takeout he and Tim and Sasha had shared. Jon seemed to have, however grudgingly, started to accept Martin's presence in his life, and that thought made Martin smile. Jon needed someone to care about him really. Martin was beginning to suspect that he lived in the archives and never ate anything but the slightly squished granola bars he kept in his pockets.

He knocked on Jon's door, and awaited the usual "what do you want", but it didn't come.

Martin knocked again, this time a little harder. "Jon" he called out softly.

No answer.

"Are you alright in there? I've got tea for you?"

Still nothing, and now Martin's head was filling up with terrible things that could have happened to a grumpy head archivist to make him unresponsive. Maybe one of the massive stacks of file filled boxes had toppled over on him and he was laying trapped under statements about seeing Elvis and hauntings that were really just raccoons in the walls. Or, or maybe he'd just passed out at his desk from hunger or fatigue. Was it actually possible to work yourself to death? Martin wondered. Oh God! Was Jon dead?

"Jon if you don't answer right this minute I'm coming in!" Martin tried to use his "firm voice" but it came out awful shakey.

No answer. Martin twisted open the door nob. It was unlocked, and Martin wasted no time in going in, looking for his poor (maybe deceased) boss, but Jon was nowhere to be found. 

An irritating buzzing drew Martin's attention to the desk, and the vibrating phone hiding under a couple of files. It was an alarm, and martin clicked it off, feeling awkward about touching Jon's phone, but not knowing what else to do. The screen showed that the alarm he just turned off made two missed alarms. Martin wondered what they were for. Maybe Jon only gave himself some much time to complete a file or something. That sounded like a very job thing to do.

Martin set the phone back down on the desk, and the mug of tea along with it.

He tries to think logically, if Jon isn't here, then where could he be?

"Ahem"

Martin whirls around. Apparently Jon is the doorway of his office trying to glare menacingly at him over the impressive stack of files he's carrying. 

Archive storage. Of course Jon was down in archive storage, probably finding more work for himself to do, as if there wasn't already enough up here. 

Jon walks past him and drops the stack of files on the ground by another stack of files. The land with a thud, but somehow don't fall over. The he turns to Martin. He looks, less mad than Martin would have thought, but his mouth is pinched and his eyebrows are furrowed and he's sweating a bit.

"I'm...I'm sorry. For coming in, I mean. It's just I knocked, and you didn't answer and I got worried..... I bought tea?" Martin gestures to the cup lamely.

"Martin I...." Jon begins, then he violently doubles over, clutching at his lower abdomen. He raises his head just enough to look up at Martin. The expression in his eyes most accurately described as "deer in the headlights" just sheer unadulterated panic. Then he, still clutching his midsection, makes a dash for the door pushing Martin aside with a surprising burst of strength.

Martin stares after him. What the hell was that? Then it occurs to him that Jon is probably sick or hurt or something and he should definitely be doing something more productive than staring there like the great lump he is. So Martin runs after him.


	7. Chapter 7

Jon had run to the bathroom, it wasn't particularly hard to figure out.

Martin pressed his ear to the bathroom door. It maybe an invasion of privacy, but Martin is worried, and he doesn't really trust Jon to know how to take care of himself if he's sick. What if it's actually serious? What if his appendix has ruptured or something? Martin brings up a thumb to chew on the nail. His mother always said it was a disgusting habit, but it's soothing, and well, he's worried.

He can shuffling, grunting, and some quiet cursing, and a string of soft "no, no, nos". Martin then hears something liquidy empty into the toilet bowl. Is Jon puking? Oh God Jon is probably puking. Maybe he has food poisoning? Can you get food poisoning from a granola bar?

There's more groaning and then a thump. Martin thinks that maybe Jon has sat down, or at least he's hopes Jon has sat down and not fallen down. It's quite for a while, then a sound that breaks Martin's heart. A whimper. Jon Simms whimpered, a sad frightened little noise, and Martin knows he has to do something. He gives three soft knocks on the door. 

"Go 'way" Jon sounds so...tired and ...small. Martin wishes he could go in there and hug him. But he had a strong feeling that if he ever did give into his desire to hug Jon, Jon would waste no time in filing a sexual harassment claim. And that was the best case scenario.

"I um...can't do that." Martin shuffles his weight from foot to foot nervously.

A heavy sigh, then a "Why?" That sounds like it took great effort to say.

"I need to know you're alright. I mean you're obviously not fine, but I just...I just need to know you're not dying or something. Just...do you need anything? Can I do anything to help you?"

It was quite for a long time, then a faint, very weary sounding " I ... want to go home" 

"Yea, yea... we can do that. I've got a car..."

"They can't see me!" Then quieter. "Not like this"

Martin guessed that "they" referred to Tim and Sasha. It didn't surprise Martin that Jon didn't want them to see him while he was sick. Jon seemed to be entirely against his assistants knowing that he was indeed a human being. As ridiculous as Martin thought that was, now didn't seem to be the time to critique Jon's managerial style. He was hurting, and Martin would do whatever Jon needed him to, and if that was making sure Sasha and Tim didn't know he was sick that so be it.

"Ok...ok. Tim and Sasha and I were going out for lunch. I was going to ask if you wanted anything. How about I say you needed me to stay behind and help with something, and while they're gone I can get you home. And ....and when they get back I'll tell them you got sick and went home? Sound good?"

"Tell them....tell them I left to conduct an interview."

Martin tried not to roll his eyes. This was important to Jon, for whatever reason."OK, I'll tell them. I'm going to go, and .....do that. Will you be OK while I'm gone?"

"I'll be fine Martin" a familiar note of exasperation had creeped into Jon's voice and Martin never thought he would be glad to hear it, but he was. 

Sasha and Tim left after a bit of grumping about what a workaholic tyrant Jon was, and encouraging Martin not to let Jon push him around so much. Martin just smiled sheepishly and tried to convince them he didn't really mind. Which was true enough. 

Once he was certain they were gone and not coming back for the foreseeable future, he returned to the bathroom door and knocked again.

"Jon? You can come out now, they're gone."

"No, no... I need.."

"What do you need Jon? It's alright. Whatever it is, I'll get it for you." Martin encouraged.

"My coat, I need my coat."

That was easy, Martin could do that. "Ok, I'll be right back."

Martin hurried into Jon's office to find Jon's coat, it wasn't particularly hard, Jon's coat was...easily recognizable. Which was the nicest thing Martin could think to say about it. It was a knee length peacoat, (in what Martin was pretty sure was a woman's cut) that was the ugliest shade of puke green that Martin had ever had the displeasure to lay his eyes on. 

He found the hideous thing thrown over a stack of boxes. Then it occurred to him that Jon would probably want his phone which was still on his desk. So he hurried to grab that as well. He spied a pad of bright pink sticky notes and got an idea. He found a pen with a worrying amount of teeth marks in it, and begain to write. When he finished, he stuck the sticky note to the screen of Jon's phone and stuck it in the pocket of the ugly coat.

He gave one last looks round the office for anything else that Jon might want. He spies a ratty looking black messenger bag thrown behind the desk and retrieves that as well. It has several buttons tacked on one side, most of them are quotes, one read "The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it." and that's just so Jon, that Martin has to smile. The others consist of a button with a adorable little sheet ghost that says "dead inside" and one with a glaring cartoon cat that says "sourpuss". It's all very....cute. And very unexpected, from his closed off buttoned up boss.

Martin slings the bag over his shoulder, and hurries back to Jon.

He knocks on the door again. "Jon, I've got your coat, and your bag....I um, thought you might want that."

Martin heard the sound of the lock turning. The door creaked open just enough for a slender brown hand to poke out. Martin stared at it a minute, not quite understanding.

"My coat" Jon hissed, shaking his hand.

Oh "oh!" Martin hurried to shove the horrible coat in Jon's hand. 

Jon quickly pulled his hand back in, and Martin heard the lock click back into place. 

He heard some shuffling, and muttering he couldn't really make out, then the door opened slowly.

Jon had his head turned away from Martin looking down. His coat was wrapped tightly around him, he was curled in on himself and looked... small. Jon technically was small, short and slender, but he never seemed small until this moment. Martin could feel the shame radiating off him.

Martin quickly decided he was going to make this as easy for Jon as possible. He looked away, and put on a quiet, cheerful voice. "Come on, my car is just outside, we can go out the back way."

He looked back to see Jon nodding, so Martin set off, stopping to gather his own things, periodically checking to make certain Jon was still following behind.

Elias, for reasons Martin couldn't comprehend, had been kind enough to give him a nice parking spot by the institute. Though how he'd known Martin had a car, Martin didn't know.

Jon slid in and immediately situated himself so that he was as far away from Martin as possible, practically plastered against the door.

Martin got himself in as well, setting Jon's bag in the back. He grabbed the blanket he kept in the back. It was green, a much nicer green than Jon's coat, plush, with a silky trim. Martin had gotten it for his mother, but well, she had never liked his presents. So the blanket went largely unused.

He offered it to Jon, who stared at it uncomprehendingly, as if he didn't understand why Martin was offering it to him. But Jon eventually reached for it, and Martin let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Jon burrowed into the blanket, tugging it around his shoulders and tucking his legs up so that only his eyes and a mess of dark hair was visible, along with couple fingers that seemed to be worrying the silky edge of the blanket.

Jon peered at him questioningly.

Martin blinked back, a bit abashed to have been caught staring.

"Aren't we going?" Jon asked softly, his voice muffled by the blanket.

"Oh ahhh .... yea" Martin rubbed the back of his neck. "I kind of need your address..."

Jon looked sheepish as he rattled out and address Martin could barely hear.

The drive to Jon's apartment was silent. It was a nice, sort of tucked away brownstone. Jon didn't get out right away. Martin saw Jon fisting his hand in the blanket, tugging it closer to himself. Martin really wanted to just dive to his apartment with Jon, to tuck him into his own bed and to keep him there and feed him and fuss over him until he stopped looking so small and sad and ashamed.

But, Martin told himself, you couldn't kidnap your boss, even if it was only to mother him. 

Jon was now making reluctant motions to shed the blanket.

"You can keep it" Martin blurted out " the blanket I mean. I never really use it...." He trailed off.

Jon looked startled again. He looked down at the blanket, then up at Martin and nodded.

Martin, a bit embarrassed grabbed Jon's bag and held it out to him.

Jon took it, and stared at it for a minute. "Martin, I..."

"Yes?"

"Could you do something for me?"

"Of course!" Anything! Well maybe not anything, but most things...probably.. I mean..."

" Martin." Jones interrupted. " I just, I feed a cat. A stray cat, behind the institute. There's a dish there, and food in my desk and if you would..."

Oh my god. Jon fed a stray cat. That was adorable. Sasha and Tim were so wrong, Jon was the opposite of heartless, he was ....heart full? Martin wasn't sure he but he really wanted to hug him. "Of course! And if, if you need anything else just call me"

"I..." Jon begain, but changed his mind and opened the door and practically lunged out of the car. Before he closed the door he poked his head back in, staring down at the passenger seat. "Thank you. For the blanket and the cat and ...everything. You won't, you won't tell ..."

"No, of course not" 

Jon let out one last quite "thank you," the scurried towards his door as fast as possible, blanket still around him.

Martin stared after him, his heart pounding slightly in his chest. Wondering if maybe he wasn't in too deep now with his quest to show kindness to his grumpy, antisocial, very, very adorable boss.


	8. Chapter 8

Jon locked the door to his flat and slid to the ground.

He had pissed himself at work.

Worse, he had pissed himself at work in front of Martin. Always bloody Martin.

Jon was going to have to quit and change his name and maybe take up a position as a lighthouse keeper on a secluded island and never talk to anyone ever again.

He let his head fall back on the door, which kind of hurt.

Did Martin know he had wet himself? Jon perked up. 

The wetting had been pretty bad, wet marks down past his knees and stopping mid shin, but he had managed to make it to the bathroom before he'd made a puddle on the floor. But Jon's pants were black so the wet Marks weren't too noticeable. (All of Jon's pants were black for this very reason) and, hadn't Martin said something about him being sick? Maybe he thought the had a stomach bug or something? 

That was still embarrassing, but way less embarrassing than Martin knowing he was nothing more than an overgrown toddler who couldn't keep from wetting himself daily.

Jon thought back to the anxious blue of memory that was the last hour of his life. Martin hadn't been disgusted. Surely if Martin knew or even suspected he had wet himself, he would be completely sickened, and would have never let Jon sit in his car or give him his nice blanket to wrap around his piss soaked self.

Maybe, just maybe, for now Jon was in the clear.

But it couldn't happen again.

What if next time it was in front of Sasha or Tim. (Jon wasn't quite yet prepared to examine why Martin was the better option to wet himself in front of.) Jon had to do something about this. He stuck a hand into his coat pocket and dug around for his phone. Mercifully it was there. Jon stared at the pink sticky note attached to it's screen. 

Jon,

Hope you feel better soon! Please take care of yourself, and call me if you need anything.

Martin

This was followed by an honest to god smiley face, because of course Martin would be the kind of silly twit to draw smiley faces on his notes.(and Jon definitely didn't find that endearing) As well as a phone number, presumably Martin's.

Jon carefully removed the note and set it aside. (Later it would be stuck up on the fridge with the one magnet he owned, but it definitely wasn't because it made Jon feel kind of warm inside to look at it) He opened his phone and navigated to a familiar webpage. He held his breath until the purchase was complete.

Then he had a complete and utter panic about what he'd just done. What if the box said what was in it on the outside? What if someone saw? What if the strange old woman who lived downstairs and collected Precious Moments figures and spent half of her time in the countryside was coincidentally at home when the package was delivered to her by accident? Then she would open it and see the contents, and then she would know what a gross, weird person he was. And then....and then.... She would have to give the package to him and Jon would die of shame, and then have to flee the country because he obviously couldn't live here anymore.

Jon pulled the blanket over his head and groaned. But it was done now, and he'd just have to live with the no doubt embarrassing consequences.

He reluctantly got up, and shuffled to his bedroom, placing Martin's blanket and his phone on his bed. Then he undressed and balled up all of his clothes taking them to the washer to start yet another load of laundry. 

Then it was yet another shower to wash the urine off his skin. Jon hated showering. It always felt like such an ordeal to clean himself up after an accident. It would have been nice to sink into a nice hot bath, maybe with bubbles. He'd never had a bubble bath, but it looked nice, relaxing. He imagined a rubber ducky and maybe a little ship and a squishy toy octopus to attack it. While he was occupied, a faceless person sat by the tub and washed him, while gently cooing about what a good boy he was. 

As Jon washed his own hair he imagined someone else doing it for him. They'd be careful, making sure to keep the soap out of his eyes. They'd gently lean his head back to rinse the suds out and he'd look up at the round, freckled face smiling down at him....

Jon's eyes snapped open, which caused them to be filled with hot, stinging showed water, which in turn caused him to blindly flail around, knocking his three in one shampoo bottle to the bottom of the tub. He stepped forward to try and get his balance, and stepped right on the shampoo bottle sending him hurtling backwards his head smacking on the wall as he slides down to the floor.

He stayed there curled up in a small ball until the water started to get cold. He uncurled himself and got up very carefully, glaring at the offending shampoo bottle the entire time. He thinks about chucking it in the trash or out the window, but that would be wasteful. So he just leaves it. 

He limps to his dresser and takes out a pair of boxers briefs and black shirt with a happy looking skeleton that says "drop dead gorgeous". Georgie had got it for him as a joke years ago. He'd pretended to be annoyed, but secretly he liked it. He stared down at it for a moment, wondering why all the things he liked had to be kept secret. Then he told himself that that was more than enough self pity for today, and got dressed. 

He crawled into bed and wrapped Martin's blanket around his shoulders. He really should give it back Martin, but it's soft and he likes running his fingers over the silk edges. It's softer than any blanket he owns. All of his are worn coarse things from his grandmother's house. He's never thought of buying anything soft and new like this when he's just destined to pee on them anyway. 

He won't pee on Martin's blanket he promises himself. It will stay around his shoulders where its safe.

He snuggles into the blanket and retrieves his phone. His thumb absently makes it's way into his mouth, a familiar comforting weight, and he starts to suck. He yanks it out sharply when he realizes. It took him ages to break that nasty, babyish habit, and he's not going to start it again just because he had a bad day he tells himself sternly.

To distract himself from the desire, he hastily opens up YouTube and finds a cat video in his recommendations, then let's himself relax a little while the fat tabby on screen chases a laser pointer.


	9. Chapter 9

Jon stares at the offending package that has just come on overnight delivery he paid too much for. It's large and unlike he feared, it gives absolutely no clue as to the contents inside.

He takes a deep breath and cuts open the tape. He stares at the contents of the package, and feels sick and excited all at once. Jon's thought about this a billion times over the years, but he never really thought he'd go through with it. 

It makes logical sense, he tries to rationalize, he can't risk having another accident in front of anyone at the archives.

He pulls out the package and sets it on the bed. "Goodnights" the package reads "nighttime underwear" it's a lie, Jon thinks, they're not underwear, they're glorified training diapers for big kids who still can't keep the bed dry. Which Jon supposes, is exactly what he is. 

He opens the package and pulls one out, it's patterned with planets and stars and made to resemble underwear. He needs to do this before he loses his nerve, he thinks, and pulls his sweatpants and underwear off, then he pulls the goodnight on.

It feels incredible. It's soft and comforting as it presses against him and just having it on makes his whole body relax in a way he didn't think it could. 

It unlocks vague memories of his mother, who has kept him in daytime pullups and night time diapers untill she had died when he was five. His grandmother had never approved , firmly believing that any child older than three was far too old for diapers. So when he went to live with her he was immediately taken out them and left to get used to the constant discomfort of wet pants and sheets.

The diaper, pull up, he corrects himself, feels like comfort and safety and love and all of the other pleasant illusions of childhood. It feels better than Jon thinks it has a right to. He's contemplating crawling back in bed for the rest of the day wrapping Martin's blanket around him and watching a few episodes of Pete's Cat. Then he catches a glimpse of himself in the the floor length mirror that he keeps next to the closet,(Another thing like so many scavenged from his Grandmother's house) and the illusion shatters.

There he is long messy hair streaked with grey and dark circles around his eyes making him look tired and ....old. Yet here he stands in a wrinkled shirt with a cartoon skeleton on it and a child's diaper sucking his thumb. He feels stupid and weird and a bit sick. He pops his thumb put and stares down at it. It's wet and slightly wrinkled. How long has he been sucking on it? When did he put it in his mouth in the first place? 

He can't do this anymore. He needs to get the diaper....pullup off. Right now. He quickly slips his fingers into the waistband and pulls it down, it falls to the ground with a wet squish. ...a wet squish. Jon stares at the offending garment in horror. Sometime during his stupid babyish daydreaming he's wet himself and hadn't even known. 

He picks up the pullup, now heavy with urine, just like Jon is now heavy with shame. Holding it out in front of him as if it might bite him he takes it to the bathroom and wraps it up in a trash bag, then buries it deep in the bottom of his waste bin.

The package of Goodnights go back in their cardboard box and are pushed as far under his bed as he can get them.

Then he takes a scalding shower, hoping to wash the shamefull memory of what he's just done away.


	10. Chapter 10

Jon paces restlessly around his flat. Yesterday was Friday, which means today is Saturday, which means no work. Contrary to what Tim and Sasha think, Jon doesn't go into work on weekends. He just very sensibly takes a large box of work home with him on Friday.

Unfortunately, due to recent events, and his sudden exodus from work yesterday, he has neglected to take any files home. So now Jon has nothing to distract himself from the package that's sitting under his bed, shaming and tempting him in equal measures.

He's tried tv, but nothing could hold his attention. Not even his beloved cat videos could distract him.

A book! he thinks, he has several he's never read. He picks one at random out of the pile he's been amazing from charity shops for a while now and sits on the couch and turns to the first page:

It was a nice day.  
All the days had been nice. There had been seven of them so far, and rain hadn't been invented yet.

Jon reads on, losing himself in the story about an angel and a demon who are both very bad at their respective jobs, and their attempts to stop the apocalypse. Approximately sixty five pages in, Jon realized that the image of the plump, fussy, curly haired angel he was imagining as he read was looking suspiciously like Martin. He flung the book down on his coffee table.

Why did Martin have to be so nice and ....caring. Tim and Sasha hated him, couldn't Martin hate him too? Was that so much to ask?

He needs this all to stop. These little fantasies he's always had, He's considered them mortifying but harmless. But now, now that they feature Martin Jones feels like some line in the sand somewhere has been crossed. He's latching onto Martin's kindness and attention and it's mingling with these desires he's always had and it won't end well.

They're coworkers, and he's technically Martin's boss for one. (Not that that's ever seemed to stop anyone at the Magnus archives from having....intimate acquaintances with each other. He's fairly certain Tim has had casual relations with at least half of the staff there.) And even if by some stretch of the imagination Martin thought of Jon as a desirable partner, the relationship would be doomed to failure. He doesn't care for sex, but likes intimacy. But then sometimes he wants his space and wants to be alone all day. Georgie has once described him as "hot and cold" Which didn't seem to be a desirable trait in a partner.

Then there was his lifelong problem to contend with. The wetting was better when he was with Georgie, but it still happened several times. It had been laughed off at first, but as it kept happening Jon could see that Georgie was beginning to realize that it wasn't something that happened occasionally, but consistently and if she slept in the same bed with him she could expect to wake up in a puddle of piss every so often. It was, Jon was pretty sure, a pretty large factor in the deterioration of their relationship. That one time he'd managed to accidentally soak a beloved stuffed childhood plush toy of Georgie's during a bed wetting incident also probably hadn't helped.

Martin wouldn't want to put up with it either. He might be nice about it at first, but once he realized there wasn't any fixing Jon's wetting, and it would be something that would have to be delt with forever, Martin would realize it was just too much to cope with, along with the rest of Jon's undesirable habits.

Jon needed to get over this.... Martin fixation before it started to cause problems. He would have to redouble his efforts to distance himself from the affection ginger, to maintain a purely professional relationship.

Speaking of efforts, Jon was going to have to face the package under his bed at some point.

He took a deep breath, then stood and matched din to his bedroom. He took out the package, practically having to crawl all the way under the bed to do so. He took off his sweatpants and underwear, and pulled up the pullup. It felt just as nice as the first time, but this time Jon fought the pleasant hazy feeling. 

Think of adult things. Think of adult things. He told himself. Taxes. Bills. Having to make telephone calls. The realization that you would spend the majority of your life working simply to sustain your life so you could do more work. Your back hurting. No one asking what your favorite dinosaur was anymore....

He pulled up his sweatpants and went to the kitchen thinking he probably should feed himself. He was going to make a sandwich. He rooted around the cabinets and came away with the heel of a loaf of bread and half a jar of peanut butter. He then shuffled over to the refrigerator trying to ignore the soft distracting sensation of the pillow between his legs.

He saw Martin's sticky note on the refrigerator smiling at him, and for a moment contemplated calling Martin, just to tell him he was alright....No.No.No that was the opposite of what he should be doing. 

He opened the fridge and found a jar of strawberry jelly, with some jelly still clinging to the insides of it.

He ate his sandwich standing in the kitchen. It would be easier, he thought, not to slip into that fuzzy warm place in his mind if he had something to distract him. 

Maybe, he could just sneak into the archives, and take away one little box of files and his tape recorder. That would keep him busy till monday.

He finished his sandwich and licked the jelly off his fingers, then made his way to the bedroom. If he was going to go out, he'd need real pants.


End file.
